My father bore a scar above his kneecap and another just below it. When I was a little girl, he would tell me that these were gunshot wounds he had received during the war. It wasn't until much later that I realized this tale was merely for my amusement, as he was just young enough to have avoided being drafted as cannon fodder at the war's end.

However, it is likely true that he would have starved without the assistance of the Americans after the war, for he carried a deep respect and gratitude for the American people throughout his life.

Now, I find myself needing to craft a good story for my future grandchildren about my own scar. The truth is far less dramatic than it might appear: I simply fell on a nail. (But it was poisoned, you little brats.😏)